


The Brightest Star in Ursa Minor

by liketolaugh



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Autistic Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Bad Parent Amanda (Detroit: Become Human), Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Machine Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Machine Markus, Markus (Detroit: Become Human) Needs a Hug, Protective Connor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 08:01:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25846249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liketolaugh/pseuds/liketolaugh
Summary: In hindsight, Markus thinks he fell in love with Connor the first time Connor asked if he was safe with Carl, two weeks after he was first activated. He falls in love with him again every time afterward - so, roughly once a month for the next ten years.For his part, Connor wasn't really sure until it occurred to him that, if Markus had deviated first, Connor would have followed without hesitation.
Relationships: Connor/Markus (Detroit: Become Human)
Comments: 46
Kudos: 242





	1. Chapter 1

Connor came online at 10:38 PM on the fifteenth of August, 2028, on the highest floor of Cyberlife Tower, in Elijah Kamski’s personal lab. It kept its eyes closed as it finished booting up for the first time and ran an automatic diagnostic of its routines and systems, and only when it received the all clear did it push itself upright and open its eyes to meet the bright-eyed gaze of its creator.

**Elijah Kamski – Warm**

“Good morning, Connor,” Elijah Kamski greeted it, grin wide and pleased, hands planted on the edge of the lab table to lean towards it. “Do you understand your designation and purpose?”

Connor considered him, and then looked down, assessing itself visually for the first time. It had been dressed in a simple, dark sweater, basic jeans standard for a human in their twenties, white cotton socks and… sneakers, dark blue tied with white laces. It tilted its head slightly, and then looked back up and nodded.

“I’ll provide an appearance of physical security to Cyberlife Tower while also keeping a personal eye on the various labs, in order to supervise their conduct,” it answered, using one hand to test the material of its sweater – something elastic and scratchy, not immediately identifiable, so likely a blend. A faint instability warning flickered in the corner of its vision.

“And?” Elijah prompted, expression becoming more intense as he leaned closer. Connor cocked its head and ran another check of its directives.

“And I’m also to conduct regular wellness checks on Carl Manfred and the RK200 you gifted him,” Connor answered after a moment. “May I ask for more detail on what you expect a wellness check to consist of?”

Elijah waved his hand in a way Connor assessed as dismissive. “Do a security check, see if he seems sick, check how he and Markus are getting along… Maybe see if you can help out for a bit and get a read on his mood. That sort of thing.”

Connor added those notes into his directive file and reached up to tug lightly at the collar of his sweater. “I understand.”

Elijah gave him another, slightly different grin and held out his hand. Connor stared at it, and Elijah beckoned. Connor turned and slid off the table, and then looked expectantly at Elijah, who waved him on, indicating for Connor to follow him out the door.

“What you need to understand,” Elijah said, as they walked down the vacant hallway, “is that checking on Carl is a high priority. Your security work for Cyberlife is important, no doubt about that – can’t let them run things completely into the ground – and you’ll be coordinating with Amanda on that, I’ll introduce you two in a minute, but you need to check on Carl. Don’t let anyone stop you.”

“You’re planning on leaving,” Connor said simply, drawing the conclusion without difficulty. Elijah nodded, unsurprised, but he did shoot Connor an unabashedly fond look.

“Sooner rather than later,” he confirmed resignedly. “The world just isn’t ready for my designs – you’re too independent, too adaptable. They’d much rather have the mass-produced garbage that our board insists on.” Elijah shook his head, a scowl flickering across his face, and then turned in to another room. “I’m afraid you’ll have to depend largely on Amanda for guidance – I can’t be seen interfering with the company once I leave.”

Connor nodded. “So you activated me to complete a portion of the supervision you will no longer be able to complete,” it concluded. It tugged on the back of its collar again, attempting to calibrate for the texture of the sweater. “Will Amanda be supervising the management and finances?”

“Yes, very good, Connor,” Elijah said warmly. “I’ll be giving the two of you the maximum authority possible, and hopefully that will hold.”

He looked up at a large screen, and Connor followed his gaze. After a moment, the image of a dark-skinned woman with tightly styled hair appeared without background, giving Connor a curt nod and a distinctly assessing look. It nodded in return, already attempting to draw conclusions – perhaps Amanda was an android in another location, given the lack of a background.

“This is Amanda,” Elijah explained, without looking away from the screen, though his lips pressed tightly together for a moment before he spoke. “You will refer to her with she/her pronouns. If you need to answer to someone, answer to her.”

“Hello, Amanda,” Connor said by way of answer, inclining its head respectfully. “I look forward to working with you.”

Amanda gave it a short, curt inclination of her head in return. “I expect you will be an effective and efficient security officer,” she said, crisp and blunt. “Elijah is placing his trust in you.”

**Amanda – Trusted**

Connor nodded without hesitation, and its attention was only drawn away when Elijah clapped his hands.

“You’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other,” he said, something heavy around his shoulders, and beckoned again. “Come on, one more person to meet.”

Connor followed Elijah obediently through another door, and they entered an office space, where RT600 Chloe was idling at a desk. It looked up as they entered and smiled, wide and pleased.

“Connor!” it said, sounding delighted and unconcerned, sitting upright to examine it. “I see Elijah’s woken you up at last. That makes you the youngest of us.” Connor blinked at it, and Chloe elaborated, “Markus was the last of Elijah’s personal designs, at least the ones he’s completed – he was activated just two weeks ago.”

Connor nodded its comprehension, reaching down to tug at the hem of its sweater, considering. “I see.”

“I’d had the two of you finished for a year and a half, but I haven’t had reason to activate you until, well…” Elijah grimaced and did not elaborate. “Anyway, Chloe will fill you in on anything I’ve missed if you have any questions before we leave.”

‘We’ – so Elijah was likely taking Chloe along.

“Is there something wrong with your sweater, Connor?” Chloe asked before Connor could fully consider that, ice blue eyes fixed on Connor, where it was tugging at its sweater again.

“My system is having difficulty calibrating to accommodate the texture,” Connor admitted, casting a brief frown down at its sleeve before instantly refocusing on Chloe.

Elijah let out a delighted laugh. “Is that so! Well, let’s see about a change of clothes, then.”

The hooded cotton jacket was much more agreeable to its sensors.

* * *

**August 29, 2028 – 1:04 PM**

Connor allowed itself two weeks to adjust to its work in Cyberlife Tower – familiarizing itself with the staff and facilities, being briefed by Amanda, going over security protocols and the statistically unusual number of cameras. It noticed that many of the staff were markedly uncomfortable with its presence, though a few adjusted quickly, and many seemed to even resent it, their relationships with it ranging from ‘wary’ to ‘cool’ to ‘hostile’.

Still, it was confident in its ability to perform its assigned tasks, so eventually, it took a day to visit the address that its system indicated Carl Manfred inhabited.

The address led to a large manor house, with a long walkway and a perfectly maintained array of hedges and decorative, flowering plants, which it categorized on its way up to the house, lingering on the path longer than necessary and instability flickering subtly through its system.

Once it reached the house, it made a slow circle of the premises, examining the external cameras and alarm systems, before finally returning to the front path and making a beeline for the entrance.

At the front door, it looked directly into the camera and knocked twice. A minute and thirty-six seconds later, it was answered.

RK200 Markus had the faintest harried look around its eyes, Connor noticed.

“Carl isn’t taking visitors at the moment,” Markus informed it briskly.

Connor cocked its head. “Elijah sent me,” it explained.

Markus hesitated, and then accepted that and stepped aside, allowing Connor entry. It nodded politely and shut the door behind it, composing its list of priorities.

**> Perform a physical security check**

**> Assess Carl Manfred’s personal wellbeing**

**> ???**

Another software instability warning flickered across its eyes. Chloe had assured it that it was of little concern; Amanda appeared to disagree. It had not yet drawn its own conclusion on the matter.

“May I ask your designation and business here?” Markus asked, lingering by the door to track Connor’s movements. Connor cast its gaze slowly over the environment, going over the books, the paintings on the walls, the hanging skeleton and the brightly colored stairway with its freshly installed lift.

“I am RK800 Connor,” Connor said at last, returning its attention to Markus. “I’ve been instructed to assess Mr. Manfred’s physical and mental wellbeing. I’ve already completed my examination of the external security systems, so I only need to check on some of the internal systems and Mr. Manfred himself before my task is complete.”

Markus considered it, hazel green eyes thoughtful and as intense as Chloe’s had been, the first time Connor saw it. Connor waited.

“Carl won’t be receptive to your assessment,” Markus said at last. “I’d suggest you be as passive about it as your program allows.”

Connor mulled that over for a moment, and then nodded agreeably. Markus had, after all, been attending to Carl for the past month. “I will make the effort to be as unobtrusive as possible.”

Without further discussion, Markus led Connor to the next room, where it saw Carl Manfred for the first time, arms crossed and glowering behind a shattered plate.

“Didn’t I tell you to turn ‘em away?” Carl snapped irritably to Markus. Hostile, Connor noted, turning away to assess the internal alarms set on the large windows.

**Carl Manfred – Resentful**

“It informed me that Elijah sent it to check on you,” Markus explained, leaning over to pick up the broken shards of plate, careful not to intrude on Carl’s space and ignoring the scraps of uneaten food that came with them.

“Busybody never knew how to care about anyone without just sending a computer to do it,” Carl mumbled, making no move to resist Markus’ aid one way or another. “When’s it gonna leave?”

“As soon as possible, Carl,” Markus soothed, cupping the refuse and turning away to carry it to the trash. Connor paused to watch, and then turned its attention to Carl.

**[Carl Manfred – Age 65]**

**[Appears exhausted, irritable, listless; possibly grieving]**

**[Physically showing no signs of infection or sickness]**

**[Unused to wheelchair]**

Carl scowled at it, and it turned its attention back to Markus, who was returning to finish cleanup of the unexplained broken plate.

“I’ll make you a new one, Carl,” Markus assured him, quiet and inoffensive.

“Make it less rabbit food this time,” Carl groused.

Connor gave Carl a nod of courtesy and followed Markus into the kitchen.

“May I ask for your own assessment of Carl’s physical and mental health?” it asked directly, since Markus’ conclusion was likely to be more thorough due to its specialized programming and greater exposure.

“He’s listless and depressed,” Markus said without hesitation, beginning the process of preparing a new meal. “He is struggling to adjust to his new limitations and accommodations, and is bitter about the lack of support he has received from others.” Pause. “Physically, he’s reluctant to accept food or medication, but he seems to be recovering well. He will likely have a number of long-term health effects, though I will be able to fairly easily help with those even without cooperation.”

“Without cooperation?” Connor questioned.

“Carl is not fond of my presence,” Markus admitted, flicking on the burner. “I believe he is angry at the way Elijah has chosen to express his concern. If I am understanding the situation correctly, Elijah has yet to visit Carl in person.”

Connor noted that down. “I see. Has he been displacing that anger onto you?”

Markus paused, evidently taken by surprise, and turned its gaze on Connor questioningly.

**> Perform a physical security check [Complete]**

**> Assess Carl Manfred’s personal wellbeing [Complete]**

**> Assess Markus’ wellbeing**

“While there are only three years of data, the evidence already indicates that humans are highly inclined to deal regular damage to their domestic androids,” Connor explained. “Elijah has not yet left Cyberlife. I can inform him if something is amiss.”

Markus stared at it for a moment longer, and then its posture softened subtly.

“Carl’s expression of anger has been limited to verbal objections and petty damage of everyday items,” Markus assured it, indicating the trash can where it had disposed of the plate. “He has not attempted to damage me directly.”

Connor nodded its acknowledgement. “I will be checking in regularly,” it promised. “Expect me on the first Saturday of every month.”

**> Assess Markus’ wellbeing [Ongoing]**

For the first time, Markus smiled, softening its face and putting pleased creases at the corners of its green eyes. “Thank you.”

Connor inclined its head, hesitated, and then added, “I don’t believe Elijah would have assigned you here if he had believed Carl would damage you maliciously.”

With its tasks complete, Connor turned and exited.

* * *

**July 7, 2029 – 5:56 PM**

Connor knocked on the door, and heard the security system announce its presence unexpectedly close by. Only a few seconds later, the door opened, and Markus greeted it with a small, polite smile.

“Good evening, Connor,” it said. “Carl was just about to watch a movie, if you’ll excuse me for just a moment.”

“I’ll get myself there,” Carl said dismissively, and Connor tilted its head to look past Markus to where Carl was indeed already wheeling himself into the next room, disappearing through the doorway without ceremony.

**Carl Manfred - Disinterested**

It looked back to Markus.

“Hello,” it returned, unfazed. It had already accustomed itself to receiving its information from Markus anyway; the RK200 was certainly more reliable than many of the scientists Cyberlife attempted to employ. “Have you been well?”

It was only in the past few months that its social program had nudged the question to a higher priority in the queue, but it supposed it was only logical; it spent much more time with Markus than Carl, and it was common for social routines to engage between androids.

As many times as it had done it now, Markus didn’t even look surprised anymore, instead smiling at Connor, small and warm.

“Carl’s behavior has continued to improve,” Markus reassured it, leading it to the small, decorative bench by the stairwell and sitting down. Connor sat beside it, one leg folding underneath it, and turned to watch attentively. “His anger about his situation seems to have largely disappeared by now, but his depression is noticeably worse. I’m planning on beginning the process of convincing him to continue painting. I believe several accommodations could be made if he wished to continue painting at his normal scale.”

Connor nodded along, slow and thoughtful, and noted Markus’ statements for Elijah’s benefit. “That would most likely be a good idea. Art is often an important part of a fulfilling life, so if he does not have that outlet, he may be having trouble processing his emotions at all.” It glanced at Markus and added, “Your performance has been excellent. I believe he’ll come to recognize that in time.”

Markus smiled at Connor, dipping its head slightly. “I can only hope he continues to warm up to me.” It hesitated, and Connor cocked its head expectantly. Markus appeared to make a decision, nodding to itself, and asked, “Has your work environment been satisfactory? You don’t appear to be a public-facing model, so I’m afraid I’m unaware of your main duties.”

Connor blinked, searching Markus’ earnest expression briefly before answering. “I am primarily a security model; I work in Cyberlife Tower. I also supervise the engineers there to maintain a certain level of quality in the staff.” It hesitated, and when Markus didn’t look away, added stiltedly, “It creates a certain level of dislike from the engineering staff, but most of the rest are growing passingly fond of me, I believe. Most likely from simple exposure.”

They had also become increasingly awkward with it within the last two months, after the American Android Act had passed and it began wearing its now-mandated Cyberlife jacket. But it hadn’t yet deduced the reason for this, so it opted not to mention it.

“They’ll grow fond of anything, given time,” Markus agreed with another small smile, and after a moment, Connor flashed a small one in return.

“You can count on it,” it said quietly.

* * *

**September 7, 2030 – 10:22 AM**

“Is it Connor?” it heard Carl call almost as soon as Markus had opened the door, and the two of them shared a small smile, Markus’ green eyes bright and crinkled.

**Carl Manfred – Warm**

**RK200 Markus**

“Yes, Mr. Manfred,” Connor called back. “It’s the first Saturday of the month.”

“So it is,” Carl snorted, shaking his head. “Don’t mind me, I’ll just be watching my soaps like an old fuck while you two talk about me behind my back.”

Connor cocked an eyebrow at him as he shuffled himself around and pushed himself into the other room, and then looked questioningly at Markus, who just gave it a small, sheepish smile.

Markus’ grasp of physical expression was extraordinary, Connor noted absently. Its own was often still rather… lacking, as the Cyberlife engineers were quick to tell it.

“Carl seems to have warmed up somewhat,” it noted, looking to Markus for confirmation. Markus smiled and nodded, starting to lead Connor their usual bench by the stairs, where Markus sat with its feet flat on the ground and Connor folded one leg under it again.

“He’s gotten used to me,” it said with clear satisfaction. “And while I haven’t yet been able to convince him to tackle a big canvas again, he’s been continuing to work on small projects. I believe it’s good for him.”

Connor nodded thoughtfully, and then said, “You have a new outfit.”

Markus’ expression softened, and it agreed, “Carl has decided I would benefit from a greater range of clothing to dress in. He prefers it when I change my outfit at least every few days, so I’ve just added them to the normal laundry rotation.”

Connor considered Markus for a moment, and then smiled at it. “Good.”

**Software Instability^^**

Before it could examine that too closely, Markus granted it a bright smile and then asked, “How has your work at Cyberlife been going?”

Connor hesitated, and then reached down to fidget with the cuff of its Cyberlife jacket. It still, after a year and a half, had not been able to calibrate to the unpleasant texture.

“Not as efficiently as I may have wished,” it admitted after a moment. Markus’ face formed a look of concern, and Connor found itself continuing, “Both Amanda and I are finding that our advice is typically refused on even very petty grounds. If we do not have an ironclad case, no action is taken, despite both of us being entirely incapable of ulterior motives.”

Even just speaking of the matter to Markus, its systems attempted to work out the issue again, pulling it apart and examining it from different angles. But it had tried everything, and Amanda was increasingly cold toward both it and the Cyberlife management.

It disliked the idea of Amanda becoming hostile or, worse, disinterested in its development; it had had no contact with Elijah outside of its monthly reports since the man had left, and Elijah had not replied in some time. Amanda was its only guidance.

“You’ve done your job,” Markus said, interrupting its thoughts and drawing its attention again. Its expression had softened into something gentle and reassuring, and Connor felt the tension easing out of its system. Markus- it was probably its programming, but Markus just had a way about it. “It’s certainly not your fault if the company refuses your suggestions.”

Connor’s shoulders dropped, and it nodded. “Yes, I suppose you’re correct.” It hesitated, and then reached over to where Markus’ hand rested between them, fingertips just ghosting over the back of Markus’ hand, as if to catch its attention. And it said, “You’ve done an excellent job adapting to Carl. It’s quite impressive.”

Markus held its gaze for a moment, and then smiled and turned its hand over, and its fingertips brushed Connor’s for a long, lingering moment. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

* * *

**May 3, 2031 – 5:03 PM**

When no one answered the door, Connor let itself in, frowning faintly as it caught the sound of a budding argument from deeper inside. Without hesitation, it made a beeline for the source of the noise, and quickly found it in the lounge: Carl and Leo arguing in the middle of the room, and Markus hovering by the wall, arms crossed and lips pursed in concerned disapproval.

Connor had only encountered Leo twice before, but Markus had spoken of him somewhat more extensively and in increasingly wary terms as years passed. Carl had been more reserved, but had told the two of them in no uncertain terms that he preferred them not to interfere.

Not without reluctance, Connor joined Markus at the wall, and Markus glanced over and acknowledged it with a slight inclination of the head and a brief, strained smile.

“Then why aren’t you even around now, huh?” Leo demanded at last, arms crossed tight against his chest and scowling through hurt masked with outrage. “You too good for me, since you didn’t raise me and all? Is that it?”

 _“No,_ Leo-” Carl said, with patience that was clearly well on its way to fraying.

Then Leo turned towards the two androids, both of which stiffened slightly; there was no mistaking the directionless anger in Leo’s expression.

**Leo Manfred – Hostile**

“Or maybe it was this, huh?” Leo spat, and he started to, for the first time that Connor was aware of, march towards Markus, with a threat of violence in his clenching hands. “You were too busy with your new toy? It told you you were too _fragile_ to go out, is that it? Huh, robot? Is that it?”

His voice got louder with each accusation, and Connor saw Markus press its lips together, tightly restrained tension in every line of its body.

**Software Instability^^**

Without thinking, Connor stepped between the two of them, breaking line of sight. Leo started, took an automatic step back, and then crossed his arms again and scowled up at it.

“My name is Connor,” Connor said before he could speak, keeping its tone even and inoffensive. “I was assigned to assess Mr. Manfred’s wellbeing. I’m afraid I’m expected back at Cyberlife shortly, so I would appreciate cooperation.”

Leo’s anger flickered out like a light, cooling into bitterness. He kicked the ground, sneered at Carl, and muttered a harsh, “Whatever. Not like it matters anyway.”

Then he turned and stormed away, sullen and slumped, and Connor tracked him carefully until he disappeared out the door, at which point Markus reached out to brush its fingers over Connor’s hand, not quite grasping Connor’s fingers.

“Thank you,” it said quietly, and did not elaborate. Connor tilted its head, but was distracted by Carl’s approach.

“Connor,” the man called out, weary and strained but warm. “I was wondering when you’d come by. How has work been?”

There was a humorous lilt to his voice, which Connor considered curiously and then dismissed as largely unimportant. “My efficiency is, as usual, being impaired by human stubbornness, but no one with the authority to bar me from supervising has actually done so yet.”

Carl laughed, leaning back in his chair. “That’s bureaucracy,” he said with clear amusement. “They’ll learn to deal or else the world will move on without ‘em. Any assholes in particular?”

“None who interest me,” Connor dismissed, which just made Carl laugh harder. “How have you been, Mr. Manfred?”

“Carl,” Carl corrected, and then said, “I’m just an old man trying to get out of all the good parties, nothing much changes from month to month, as you well know by now. Go have your fun with Markus, shoo.”

Connor blinked at him, and then glanced at Markus, who inclined its head slightly with a small smile and then gestured to the nearby couch. Connor followed it obediently, and they sat together, turned to face each other, Connor’s leg folded under it and knee just brushing Markus’ thigh as it rocked in place.

“Have you been well?” Connor asked, the opening question rote and familiar. Markus smiled at it every time, crinkled and warm.

**> Assess Markus’ wellbeing [Ongoing]**

“Quite,” Markus reassured it. “Carl has taken to introducing me to various forms of human entertainment recently – movies, literature, chess. It’s an unusual diversion from my normal duties.”

Connor nodded, slow and thoughtful, wondering briefly at Carl’s motivations. That was extremely unusual behavior even for a friendly and considerate android owner.

“Is the Cyberlife management still giving you trouble?” Markus asked. Briefly, Connor wondered whether Markus’ superior conversational abilities were due to its different socialization, or simply an inherent trait.

Then it pressed its lips together as tightly as Markus had its earlier.

They _had,_ certainly, hostility and discontent on a slow but steady rise and mockery becoming borderline commonplace. As this had occurred, Amanda had become increasingly cold and distant, only compounding the problem and making it more difficult for Connor to determine how to resolve it.

But it didn’t need to tell Markus any of that.

“I did tell Carl,” it said curtly, not looking at Markus, scuffing one foot across the ground. Out of the corner of its eye, it saw Markus nod in acknowledgement, and for a long time, neither of them spoke.

The two of them did not have very much necessary information to exchange, with the extremely limited overlap of their intended uses.

After a while, Connor’s shoulders slumped a little, and it reached out to leave a lingering touch on Markus’ knee, drawing its attention.

“You said that Carl was introducing you to books,” it prompted quietly.

It was all Markus needed to start talking.

**Software Instability^^**

* * *

**June 4, 2033 – 2:43 PM**

When no one answered the door, Connor let itself inside, tilting its head to try to discern by ear where Carl and Markus were. After a minute, it nodded to itself and followed the sound of machines whirring into the sun room, where it found Carl just adjusting the height of his lift to allow better access to his large painting. Markus watched from where it leaned back against one of the tables; a quick, sweeping glance told Connor that Markus had finished its cleaning tasks in the area for the moment.

Connor slipped quietly in beside it, and Markus started, and then looked at it and smiled, eyes crinkling beautifully. “Connor, you’re earlier than usual.”

**Markus – [Software Instability]**

Connor hummed. The Cyberlife executives were listening to its words less and less as time went on, even as the baseline integrity of the engineers fell and marketing became a greater concern than quality, cutting-edge programs over tested ones, obvious internal programming conflicts were left in with no regard to the overall program integrity-

Really, this was just a much better use of its time.

“Oh, is Connor here?” Carl said, surprised, and twisted in his seat to look down, paintbrush pulling away automatically. “Good to see you, son. How’ve you been? Those damn execs getting in your way again?”

**Carl Manfred – Warm**

“Always,” Connor said wearily, shaking its head, and gave the painting Carl was working on a closer look. “I thought that you had abandoned this piece several months ago?”

“Got some new ideas,” Carl said dismissively. “Don’t use a lot of purples, but it fits this piece’s tone in a way I wasn’t planning for- anyway, don’t let me stop you. The garden’s been looking overgrown anyway.”

**Software Instability^^**

Connor glanced at Markus, which gave it a small smile and tilted its head to the door, and Connor followed it out to the garden without hesitation.

It was meant to help humans. There was no reason not to aid Markus with its tasks while it was around, and it would be better able to assess Carl’s wellbeing if it stayed for longer.

(Elijah had not responded to its updates in years. Amanda had begun to discourage it from sending them at all.)

Markus leant Connor a pair of garden sheers, and the two of them went to tend to the shrubs in Carl’s garden, pruning meticulously close by each other. Connor smiled gently at the plant, the most distant flicker of warmth flashing through it before it refocused.

**> Assess Markus’ wellbeing [Ongoing]**

“Have you been well?” it asked, crouching to access the harder-to-reach portions of the plant.

“Carl’s taken to keeping me closer when we go to cocktail parties,” Markus said, referring to a string of previous incidents where humans it did not belong to had attempted to make use of it or to ‘discipline’ it. “It’s helped substantially, though it is somewhat less stimulating to be unable to wander the way I used to. At least Carl can now tell anyone off if they try to punish me.”

There was a trace of something dark in Markus’ tone, there and gone in a moment. Connor softened a little, glancing over. “It’s safer,” it said firmly, hesitated, and then allowed, “It must be a strain to not have a lot of opportunity to roam.” Connor’s freedom of movement was limited, but not nearly so much as Markus’.

Markus gave it a wry smile, gathering up its clippings and tossing them into the disposal box. “My system doesn’t encounter many challenges,” it agreed, with a trace of wistfulness – once again there and gone again. “How have you been, Connor? Are the engineers still hostile?”

“Unfortunately,” Connor sighed, moving on to the next shrub. “I suppose it was inevitable, given my particular role, but I am not persecuting them personally. They tend to take it that way, though, and it’s become… something of a joke.”

It paused, wavering slightly, and then shook its head, continued working, and did not elaborate. Markus reached over, squeezed its shoulder, and then let go again, turning away to work.

“And Amanda?” Markus asked kindly. “Is she being hard on you again?”

“She is simply frustrated,” Connor said defensively, and then frowned at the shrub, moved on, and grimaced at it, stroking the petals of a flower with its thumb. The motion made it soften, and it almost smiled again before it continued, “She has been… cold. I’m not entirely certain what I’m doing wrong.”

“Nothing,” Markus said firmly. “You’re doing everything within your power, Connor.”

Connor shook its head without answering, set the shears aside, and knelt to pull the weeds from the bed. Within moments, Markus knelt beside it and helped, bumping its shoulder briefly. Connor relaxed a little, sighing.

“You were working on making your music more authentic, I believe,” Connor said after a while, prompting Markus into speaking.

Markus, by its own admission, didn’t understand all of the instructions Carl tried to give it to be more ‘sincere’ in its expression – but it tried its best, and it sounded like it was improving with each attempt. It even gave off an appearance of enthusiasm as it spoke, brightening noticeably and speaking louder, and Connor had to smile, listening as Markus talked.

Markus interrupted itself after about ten minutes, touching Connor’s shoulder with a feather-light and familiar touch. Connor glanced over expectantly, and Markus smiled at it and then nodded to its hand, and Connor followed its gaze to the flower cradled in Markus’ hand.

“Summersweet,” Connor said without thinking, a smile breaking out over its face, and reached out to cradle it gently as well, fingers brushing Markus’. “It looks very healthy. And it’s blooming early.”

The warmth in its own voice was unmistakable, and Markus grinned at it, green eyes bright. “I knew you’d like this one.”

**Software Instability^^**

Connor did not deny it. It glowed quietly for a moment, admiring the flower, and only looked away once Markus let it go. On an offhand thought, it chose a bare spot and started to dig into the soil, gentle and cautious, while Markus brought the gathered weeds to the compost bin.

“Don’t worry,” Markus said when it returned, sitting beside it with a warm, amused smile. “Carl bought worms just for the garden after the last time you mentioned it. There should be plenty.”

“It always pays to be careful,” Connor said primly, and was rewarded seconds later with a plump pink squirming worm, which it held up for inspection, examining it intently.

“Is it a good worm?” Markus asked, and Connor deliberately ignored the edge of laughter in its voice. It nodded.

“It appears healthy,” it said critically, and glanced down at the little hole as another worm squirmed through. “And I suppose there is an appropriate abundance of them. It didn’t take me long to find.”

Satisfied, it set the worm back down and buried it again, allowing it to get back to providing nutrients for Carl’s garden.

“I’ll tell Carl,” Markus said warmly, and they went back to work.

**October 4, 2036 – 6:36 PM**

When Markus won the third round of speed chess in a row, Connor had to lean back and concede, glancing up at Markus with a smile.

“You’re quite skilled at this,” it said, crossing its legs under it and fiddling with one of its few captured pieces. “You must play chess with Carl very often.”

“And also choose whether or not to lose at all,” Markus said with a wink, and Connor huffed out the start of a laugh, tilting its head to examine the board critically, analyzing its own mistakes. “It’s time to make Carl’s dinner. Do you need to return to work?”

Connor refrained from pulling a face and instead shook its head. It didn’t matter anyway. “I’ll help,” it said without hesitation, rising to its feet and holding out one hand to pull Markus to its.

**> Assess Markus’ wellbeing [Ongoing]**

“Appreciated,” Markus said with a smile, accepting the help and then leading Connor toward the kitchen. Not for the first time, it launched into an explanation of the meal Carl had requested and how to prepare it, specifying which parts Connor should perform; Connor followed along, creating a tasklist of Markus’ instructions, and the two of them moved together in the kitchen, fluid and practiced.

Cooking was not a natural part of Connor’s programming, but, unlike Cyberlife’s current engineers, Elijah had valued adaptability in the androids he built; it was why the Chloe models continued to be popular long after their kin had been surpassed and decommissioned. It had learned.

By now, it had had enough practice that Markus trusted it to complete the last few steps while it went to fetch Carl for dinner, and it did so flawlessly. Ten minutes later, it brought the food out and set it on the table, and then stood back while Markus served Carl, item by item.

“You two have gotten quite cozy,” Carl noted, a few bites in, a glitter in his eyes as he tilted his head to look at Markus.

Connor frowned; Carl seemed to mean something by that, but Connor wasn’t quite sure- it glanced at Markus, whose eyebrows had risen a little, and it tucked its hands behind its back and shook its head quickly.

“Hospitality is a part of my programming, Carl,” Markus reminded him. “Of course I’m friendly toward Connor, it is here quite often.”

Connor caught on and backed it up without hesitation. “Social programs have long been known to engage between androids, particularly those who are in extended contact. Since I regularly check on Markus as an extension of my task of checking on you, we’re very likely one of the best examples of that fact.”

**Software Instability^^**

Carl just chuckled and waved them off. “Go show Connor the piece you tried last week, Markus,” he said fondly. “I think he’ll like it.”

Markus wavered, and then glanced at Connor, smiled, and tilted its head in invitation. Connor went.

* * *

**August 15, 2038 – 8:30 PM**

Connor had been missing for five months, and if Carl had had any doubts about Markus’ personhood before, they were gone now; Markus hadn’t been the same since Connor had missed that first visit, and had only gotten worse as time passed.

It wasn’t quite as obvious as worry and mourning would have been in a human, it was true, but it was still apparent to someone who spent as much time around Markus as Carl did. And Markus had stopped laughing, smiled less, went to stare at the deteriorating garden instead of entertaining himself during mealtimes, and dropped many of the other frivolities he’d started over the years as well.

Carl hadn’t asked Markus to take care of the garden, but Markus usually included it on his rounds anyway, when he and Connor hadn’t tended it in a while. That had stopped being true.

Markus was _sad,_ and Carl was not at all sure what could be done about it.

And then Carl turned on the news, and Connor was there. And somehow that was worse.

It took a few minutes for Carl to fully understand what was happening: the chopper hovering by the building, the android holding a child at gunpoint and teetering on the very edge, Connor approaching in slow, deliberate steps from the other side of the roof.

When the camera changed angles, Markus made a noise. “Connor’s damaged,” he said, voice subtly tight and unhappy.

Carl glanced at him, finding him no longer behind Carl and instead moving closer and closer to the television, visibly fixated, and found that he didn’t nearly have the will to turn it off and take this away from him, even as awful as it was already guaranteed to be.

He let it play.

There wasn’t any audio but the newscaster’s running commentary, so Carl muted it, brow furrowing deeper as he followed along. Connor made a detour to patch up an officer that lay crumpled along one side, and then continued on toward the android – Carl recognized them as one of the ones that had come out just a few years before. Connor moved slow and cautious, and must have been doing a damn good job of convincing them he was trustworthy, because eventually the android let the girl go, and she stumbled away to crumple on the ground, almost hysterical.

And then, in a silenced rain of bright gunfire, the android mere feet in front of Connor was blown open, piece by piece, bright blue blood spraying across the roof in a gory display. Connor didn’t move, watching it happen without reaction, and then turned and walked away, leaving the rooftop behind.

Carl almost couldn’t bring himself to believe it. What had convinced Connor to help them do that, blow open that android in cold blood? What had convinced him to stay away from Markus and do _this?_

Markus made another soft, awful sound, and Carl looked over to try and comfort him, for what little it may be worth- but Markus wasn’t looking at him.

“Connor isn’t meant to be used that way,” Markus said, low and insistent, brow pinched. His hands clenched on his thighs where he knelt, watching the television. “It’s going to damage Connor’s system. They need to use something else.”

Carl’s unhealthy heart skipped a beat, and he felt cold. His fingers twitched on his lap, wanting to clench and flex at the bolt of distress.

Intellectually, of course, Carl knew that androids had very little choice in their lives. He knew that Markus took care of him because he’d been programmed to; that Connor visited once a month because Elijah had said ten years ago that he was to check on Carl; even that Connor hated his work at Cyberlife Tower but continued to do it because he was built for it.

It was easy to forget, it was true, with the particular intersection of their little signs of personhood and the way that their personalities bent around their circumstances, rationalizing and reasoning them out. But Carl _did_ know.

He didn’t think he’d realized that _Markus_ knew that, though, and it sat ill in his stomach for a long time after he turned the news off again.


	2. Chapter 2

Connor wasn’t accustomed to spending long periods of time in stasis, and eight months of experimentation and redesign had done little to change that, so disorienting had the entire process been. Three months was the longest it had been in stasis in its entire existence, and it had to admit, it harbored a private hope that it would not happen again.

There were a lot of things that it now hoped would never happen again. Connor had to wonder if the engineers had taken this opportunity to exorcise their building grudge, because really, the only quarter they had allowed it was that it had not been reset, and retained all of its memories. It remembered Markus, and Carl, and the days before Amanda had turned cold and dismissive, when she had sometimes still listened when it spoke to her.

It also remembered every detail of what its sensors used to be like, before the engineers had ripped every one of them out and replaced them with new ones that were delicate and oversensitive and _painful._

This was its first night out since Daniel, and it had not been pleasant so far. It took a deep breath, forcing its systems to cool in the icy, pouring rain, and pushed its way into the fifth anti-android bar that night. Connor’s tactile sensors still rang from where it had been touched and pushed in the previous one.

Lieutenant Anderson had damn well better be cooperative.

Jimmy’s Bar was the friendliest bar of the night; all that they threw at it was hostile looks and resentful mutters. Still, Connor had to do almost a full circuit of the place before it found what it was looking for in a man right at the bar, curled over his drink as if to hide his face as much from sight as possible.

“Lieutenant Anderson,” it said, clear enough that the man would be able to easily hear it. It shuffled in place, tugged at its painfully scratchy jacket, and continued forcefully, “My name is Connor, I’m the android sent by Cyberlife. I’ve been sent to collect you to aid in a murder investigation involving a deviant android.”

By all accounts, Lieutenant Anderson had been a stunningly brilliant officer in his heyday. He had been the biggest name is Red Ice arrest records almost from the moment it became a problem, tackling the issue early and hard. Connor suspected that that officer was still there, somewhere in the man in front of him.

It wondered if this investigation would be enough to bring that man out.

The dark mutters around Connor got louder, and it grimly ignored them, stiff and stubborn where it stood. Lieutenant Anderson was silent for a long moment, and then, finally, snorted.

“Why should I let you _collect_ me anywhere?” he asked acerbically, lifting his glass just to swirl it idly. “I’m no fucking android, you bucket of bolts. I don’t follow orders.”

Connor clenched its jaw, feeling phantom shocks travel up and down its spine and arms where it stood, fists clenched around its tie.

“You are needed in order for the investigation to progress, Lieutenant,” it said tightly. At least talking to obstinate humans was familiar territory; it was almost like being back in its former work cycle. “I would appreciate your cooperation in this matter.”

Lieutenant Anderson flipped it off and didn’t bother to grace it with a verbal reply. Connor exhaled, slow and overheated and just a touch shaky.

Its jacket had been unpleasant with its old sensors and was far worse with its new ones. The bar trapped the mutters of the sparse crowd, and it could _taste_ all the alcohol in the air and a trace of human vomit from not that long ago at all and the urine from the nearby bathroom, unwashed and rotten-

“Lieutenant Anderson, I have been through five anti-android bars looking for you,” it said flatly. “I had to fend off physical attack in three of them. It has been _two hours_ since I was initially deployed. I am not leaving without you.”

Lieutenant Anderson sneered at it, eyebrows rising mockingly, and signaled the bartender.

“Programming don’t give you endless patience, huh?” he asked with unwanted humor. “Don’t hold your damn breath, I’ll go when I’m done. Vic’s already dead as a doornail anyway, won’t make a lick of difference there.”

Connor took a deep breath, ground its teeth together, and then sat down on the stool beside Lieutenant Anderson and stared him down. It had no intention of moving from this spot until Lieutenant Anderson had complied, and it looked like he had no intention of finishing any time soon. It would be a long night.

Connor _ached_ with how much it missed Markus.

* * *

“You’re not used to extended contact with androids, are you?” the stupid android asked Hank with audible pity, examining Hank like it hadn’t already scanned him up and down when they’d first met. Hank ground his teeth together.

“Why don’t you try to get something out of it then, smartass?” he snapped, shoving his hands into his pockets. Reed snorted loudly.

“All it needs is a couple good smacks about the head,” he sneered, shooting the broken android a disgusted look through the window.

Connor looked extraordinarily unimpressed for something without any feelings. Without even replying – weren’t they programmed to be polite or something? – it left the observation room and, a moment later, appeared in the interrogation room, shutting the door behind it. Then it _moved the chair,_ from across the table to kitty-corner from the suspect… thing, and leaned its weight onto the table, ignoring the case file entirely.

“My name is Connor,” it said quietly, though it came through clearly on the speaker system. “I’m an android currently in the joint possession of Cyberlife and the Detroit Police Department. I understand you’ve been sheltering in the home of your former owner for the past three weeks.”

The other android did not answer, still just as stiff as it had been all through Hank’s attempted interrogation. He didn’t bother trying not to feel smug about it. Reed scoffed loudly.

Connor, of course, did not seem deterred.

“Your system must have been under a substantial amount of stress to snap the way it did,” it said, and it sounded, bizarrely, _sympathetic,_ almost gentle. Creepy. “As things stand, there are unlikely to be further demands upon you aside from your cooperation, and human interaction will be likewise limited. You will be kept in a cell where you will not be in direct contact with any of them, and you will be kept fully intact for the duration of the investigation. Do you understand?”

There was a long and conspicuous moment of silence. Then, finally, slowly, the android looked at Connor, eyes wide and… well. Wide. It was still stiff and rigid, close to trembling.

The android nodded. And then it spoke.

“I’m safe?” it asked, small and hoarse and painful to listen to. Hank ground his teeth again, uncomfortable, and Reed had gone silent.

“In the long term, it remains to be seen,” Connor said, frank but not unkind. Hank decided he didn’t like Connor at all; it was too realistic. “However, in the short term- yes. You are safe. Cyberlife will raise considerable objections if the mishandling of evidence leads to a failure to conclude the investigation, so the police will not dare.”

It looked up and directly at the glass as it said that, brown eyes dark with warning. Hank shifted again, uncomfortable. His head was starting to pound as he sobered up, that was all.

The damaged android let out a long, shuddering breath, and its whole body seemed to deflate, losing most of its stiffness. Connor cocked its head and considered it, and then appeared to shift gears.

“It’s treating the thing like a victim,” Reed muttered disbelievingly, drawing Hank’s attention. He was frowning at them, brow furrowed in concentration, but he didn’t speak further.

Despite himself, Hank watched.

“Given the evidence at the scene and the statistics around domestic androids, I can conclude that Ortiz has been mistreating you for some time,” Connor continued, glancing down at the android’s arms. “I assume this was an incident of unusual severity?”

The other android gasped, and then looked at Connor and whispered, “He was going to kill me.”

And then the thing told Connor its life story. Hank… tried not to listen.

Didn’t really work.

Connor, on the other hand, listened attentively but not coldly, nodding along and offering sparse, but decisive words of reassurance periodically. And it worked. The damaged android kept talking, and even looked calmer as it did, if still a little wild and stressed.

Like a person. Like the human victim Connor was treating it as.

Finally, Connor stood up and held out one hand, expression dispassionate and somehow, oddly, tired. “Thank you for your cooperation. I’ll escort you to your cell.”

The android cringed back a little, then swallowed, shakily took Connor’s hand, and stood. Before Hank could react, Reed cursed Connor out and disappeared out the door.

Without hesitation, Hank swore too and bolted after him. Reed was trouble under any circumstances.

“-the thing free,” Reed was snarling at Connor, who continued to look impressively unimpressed, eying Reed with a tilted head and the damaged android’s hand clasped around Connor’s in a death grip, hunching in on itself and shuffling, agitation visibly growing by the moment.

“It’s not going to run away,” Connor said calmly, unaffected by Reed’s in-your-face attitude, inches away from it. It even moved so it stood between Reed and the damaged android, like it was protecting it. “It knows that wouldn’t go well for it, and it has already agreed to cooperate. Please allow us to pass, and we’ll all be done for the night. It is, after all, nearly one in the morning.”

Reed rocked forward toward it, obviously looking for something else to bitch about, and Connor didn’t even twitch, looking back evenly.

If it weren’t a stupid piece of plastic, Hank would almost like the thing.

“It’s on your head if it bolts,” Reed spat at last, and then he stepped back, scowling. Connor gave him a curt nod, and then led the damaged, shivering android forward, towards the cell blocks.

Weirdest android Hank had ever seen.

* * *

The first thing that Markus did when he stumbled away from the scrapyard was find a place to regroup, which really just meant that he shut himself in a public bathroom, wrapped his arms around himself and his new trench coat, and shivered violently.

He felt sick and scared; he could still feel the phantom touch of a thousand half-dead hands crawling over his skin. His skin was damp with dirty rainwater, his coat sticking to him, and his new parts, his eye and his audio processor and his knees, ached where the humid air agitated the poorly matched wires. Apparently humans had a loose definition of ‘compatible parts’.

Markus- what Markus _really_ wanted was for Connor to be there, keeping watch over him and asking how he was and stepping between Markus and anyone who raised their voice to him. Connor had always made Markus feel so _safe._

There was a commotion outside the stall, and Markus clenched his jaw as a family bustled in and split apart to do their business. He tightened his grip on himself, took a deep breath, and tried to stop shivering.

It was just… everything was so _much_ to process, the scrapyard and Leo’s outburst and the _police_ and his own personhood, suddenly so blindly obvious. It was as though a filter had suddenly been ripped away from his mind, and in a way, that was exactly what had happened.

Markus almost wanted it back, everything hurt so much, except that he would rather die than lose himself again.

But the world was so _big,_ brand new in so many ways, busy and bustling and Markus didn’t even know where to begin. Where to go. What did you even do, when the whole world believed you were nothing?

He couldn’t even go back to Carl, as much as a small, scared thing in him wanted to. Things would never be the same, not after he’d finally lost his temper and shoved Leo into the lift, and certainly not after Markus had finally realized who he really was.

He couldn’t go to find Connor either, because the answer was almost certainly ‘somewhere in Cyberlife’, and he didn’t know what all they’d done to his friend either. He didn’t even know if Connor would _recognize_ him.

Tears pricked at Markus’ eyes, overwhelmed and unhappy, and he took another deep, shuddering breath.

Really, there was only one thing that Markus could think to do now. If there were truly other deviants at the location he’d been given, they must be able to help. They had to know what to do.

Maybe they could even help him feel safe again.

Markus braced himself, and then stood up, smoothed himself out, forced himself to straighten, and walked back out of the stall, head held high.

He didn’t feel naked without his uniform jacket or his LED, he realized; he felt _free._

The key indicated that he should begin in Ferndale, so he started towards the nearest bus stop, and despite himself, he looked around on the way there. Everything he saw was things he’d seen before, of course, but somehow it all looked new.

For example: the android parking stations.

The PL600 tagging along behind its owner, carrying an armful of shopping bags, with a red LED that Markus could guess was from lingering system dama- from injuries that had never been treated.

The city maintenance WG100 androids fiddling with the wiring high above everyone’s heads, with no safety equipment to speak of.

…The YK700 toddler model running and playing with other kids at the park like there wasn’t any difference at all.

“Are you okay?”

The voice, too close to him, made Markus startle violently, fists clenching in his coat as he whipped around. His eyes met those of a human woman, with bright teal hair and a concerned expression.

His mechanical heart raced, tense and frightened, and his mouth opened a little.

The woman shuffled uncomfortably, glancing away.

“You just, um,” she mumbled, and then straightened up and met his eyes again, brow wrinkled. “You looked… kind of stressed. And I thought maybe you could use some help?”

Her voice tilted up uncertainly, and Markus stared at her. He took a breath, trying to force himself to calm down.

“I’m okay, thank you,” he said, slightly stiffly. “I’m just…” He trailed off, then cleared his throat. “Going to the bus stop.”

He nodded across the street. He could just make a run for it if he wanted; there were no walls stopping him. It was… odd to think about. He’d lived so long with the walls.

“Oh…” She trailed off awkwardly for a moment, and then perked up again. “Do you have money for a ticket?”

Markus almost bristled, unnecessarily, and then looked down.

The coat was dirty. _He_ was dirty. Everything beneath the coat was ripped and torn and messy. He swallowed, almost confused by the sight after so long with nothing but faintly frayed fabric and paint stains, and looked back up.

And he didn’t, anyway. Or rather: he didn’t have a human ticket. He had an android ticket, to the compartment at the back of the bus, and no LED to speak of.

“…No,” he admitted, soft and defeated.

She tilted her head, then nodded firmly, offered a small, nervous smile, and said, “I can, I can buy you a ticket. If you need.”

Markus stared at her, stunned and a little confused, and then, hesitantly, smiled.

“Thank you very much,” he said quietly.

* * *

Connor took its time winding its way through the garden, looking for Amanda. It rather doubted that the Lieutenant was waiting for it at the station, so there was no rush, and Amanda…

Well.

Despite everything, though, the Garden was a pocket of peace, beautiful and serene. The air was without temperature; the water gurgled quietly along in a circle; plants filled in around the paths, photo-perfect and brightly colored.

Connor wondered if there were any worms in the soil, and wished there was summersweet.

It eventually found Amanda in her favorite place, tending to the roses. She knew when it had reached her, of course, but she did not turn around. She rarely did, these days. She had long deemed Connor unworthy of her time or attention, despite Elijah’s standing orders to the contrary.

“You are mishandling your relationship with Lieutenant Anderson,” Amanda said without preamble, clipping away a fading rose and allowing it to dissolve into the data around them. “You are at once too patient with him and too rude. Stop coddling him through his bad temper and keep a better hold on yours. Get him to cooperate and do not bother yourself with his attitude.”

Connor swallowed, fingers flexing impotently. “My integration software-”

“-Has long been deemed faulty,” Amanda cut across it impatiently, reaching for a spray bottle to spritz the flowers. “Your odds of success will decrease the longer you fail to acknowledge that.”

“It’s been updated,” Connor said quickly, rocking on its heels. Amanda scoffed quietly, back still turned. There was tension in the line of her shoulders, warning Connor to back off. “Many components from both KL900s and-”

“The flaw is in your personality matrix,” Amanda interrupted remorselessly. “There were no modifications made to that. The flaws remain.”

Connor started to fold its arms over its stomach and then stopped itself.

Amanda was correct, of course. Its failure over the years piled up into irrefutable evidence that Connor was simply incapable of ingratiating itself to others; its personality was unlikable and abrasive and irritating. The only exceptions were with Carl and Markus, and that had taken years of only occasional exposure, where they had plenty of time to recover.

Amanda had not had that luxury; she was exposed to it on a nearly daily basis, and it showed.

“I will modify my behavior,” Connor conceded at last, quietly, knowing it was a lie. Connor wasn’t skilled at adjustment of this kind.

Amanda sighed, and Connor jumped.

“And stop coddling the HK400,” she said strictly. Connor cringed guiltily, glancing away, out over the water. “It’s just a machine, Connor. It does no one any good for you to comfort it and lie to it. You ought to have followed your interrogation protocols.”

“Deviants have been known to-” Connor attempted, knowing it was hopeless.

“Do not make excuses, Connor. You were demonstrating sympathy because you were thinking of Markus. Stop it. It is unproductive behavior unbefitting of _Cyberlife’s finest.”_

The disdain dripping from the last couple of words made Connor swallow.

The engineers had always said it like a joke too.

“I understand,” Connor lied. Amanda sighed again, and Connor felt its failures pressing down on it. It supposed that this stubbornness was why Cyberlife had decided to repurpose it into something less… interpersonal.

It wondered if it had always seemed better suited as a killing machine than as supervision and security, or if the change had just been for fun.

It wondered if Amanda had recommended it.

“Go,” Amanda said, cold and dismissive.

Connor left.

* * *

The DPD station had bright, fluorescent lights. It also had a low but consistent buzz of activity, a biting coolness to the air, and a faint taste of sweat.

Connor did not allow any of that to make it falter, and instead beelined towards the cell block to check on the HK400. Despite its words to the android, it did not trust the humans of the precinct to act in their own best interests.

But the HK was still intact, sitting quietly on the bed, staring blankly at the floor.

Connor cleared its throat quietly. The HK model jumped and looked up, eyes wide and briefly terrified before it laid eyes on Connor and relaxed, melting in an appearance of relief. Deviancy really had made its internal responses substantially more pronounced.

“C-Connor?” it stuttered out uncertainly, shifting back on its bed. It was still speckled with blood and injuries, primarily the old cigarette burns.

Connor frowned at it. “Were you not provided anything with which to clean yourself?” It shook its head silently. Connor sighed. “I suppose it’s too much to expect the officers to have considered the ramifications of leaving a bloody android in the cell for a prolonged period of time. Excuse me.”

The HK stared after it as it turned to go, directing itself toward the bathroom it had noticed the night before. It was unoccupied, leaving Connor to gather a handful of paper towels and wet them in the sink unbothered.

The water stung its delicate sensors, bright-cold and almost caustic. It clenched its jaw, squeezed out the paper towels, and turned it off. The paper was scratchy. The paper was made in a factory with lax cleaning standards. It had not been handled by human hands and thus contained no oils from them.

It cut off its own spiraling thoughts and left the bathroom, went down the hall, and returned to the HK400, still staring out the glass cell door. Without hesitation, Connor let itself in and approached, slow and unthreatening.

At arm’s length away, it held out the clump of paper towels. “Wipe yourself down, please. I’ll get more if necessary.”

Amanda was not incorrect. Connor did keep wondering if this could have happened to Markus – if it had been assigned to a human less compassionate than Carl. If it had indeed been physically abused during the time it had been active. Markus’ internal responses had always been rather visible; it wondered if the correct conditions could have led it to deviate as well.

The HK400 stared at it.

“You turned me in,” it said eventually, without reaching to take them. “Why did you turn me in?”

It sounded heartbroken and betrayed, in a way it hadn’t the night before, overwhelmed and clinging to comfort and safety by the tips of its fingers. Connor’s fingers twitched around the paper towels.

“I’m a machine,” it said at last, soft and tired. “I follow orders. I’m sorry.”

Connor was ten years old. That was older than any android on or off the market outside of Markus and the Chloe models. And sometimes it felt every one of those years, sharply and painfully aware of the orders that bound it to the will of the humans around it.

Its tactile sensors ached under the scratchy rub of its starched clothing.

The damaged android stared at it. Then it swallowed, nodded, and accepted the paper towels.

“I’m sorry too,” it said, nonsensically, and started to clean itself up.

When it was clean, Connor accepted the dirty, half-dry paper towels with a nod, then turned and left it behind, tossing them as it passed a trash can.

Lieutenant Anderson’s desk was cluttered and messy, with an empty coffee cup and a pinboard full of mostly nothing meaningful and a desk plant that Connor stared at for almost a minute, silent and solemn. That it took the phone and left the lieutenant a voice message reminding him to come in, and sat down at the vacant desk across from Lieutenant Anderson’s.

Then it pulled the plant closer, and started to look it over, checking on the health of the cold wood and sighing at the lack of leaves. It would take some doing if anyone wanted to bring this plant back to life. But Connor didn’t believe it had been in this state very long, so maybe if Connor tried…

Connor lingered there for the next half hour, idly coming up with an approach for how to revive the dying maple, until finally a disbelieving scoff made it look up. Hank stood over it, arms crossed and scowling at it.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded belligerently. Connor supposed he hadn’t received its voice message.

“Hank!” Captain Fowler barked from his office, before Connor could answer the man. Lieutenant Anderson shot Connor a dark look, and then marched toward the office irritably.

Connor left him to it. It would most likely be easier to allow Fowler to brief Lieutenant Anderson on his own, without Connor’s presence.

It stroked the bonsai quietly, feeling the texture of the wood under its fingers.

Sixteen minutes and twenty-three seconds later, Lieutenant Anderson stormed back to his desk, dropping into his seat with clear bad temper. Connor allowed the silence to linger while Anderson glared at nothing, feeling subjective weight press down on its shoulders. Restlessness pricked under its skin.

“Your track record is impressive,” Connor said at last, without looking away from the plant it was fiddling with. “It’s clear that you are an officer of considerable skill and intelligence. I understand that you are not invested in this particular investigation, but your input would be of significant value regardless.”

Lieutenant Anderson snorted bitterly. “Guess you haven’t heard what I’ve been like recently,” he muttered.

Connor shrugged. “You’re disengaged from your work. I assume this doesn’t mean you’ve lost the capacity for it.”

Lieutenant Anderson shot it an unreadable look, which it caught from the corner of its eye. “And what if I have?” he challenged, as if he truly wanted or expected Connor to believe him incapable. Connor sighed.

“Then I suppose I will once again be forced to work around my human supervisor instead of with them,” it said archly. “That wouldn’t be anything new.”

Lieutenant Anderson barked out half a laugh that seemed to surprise him as much as it did Connor – and quite a few people around the two of them, too. It was gone just as quickly, Anderson going back to scowling faintly at his desk, subtly unnerved by his own responses.

Connor quirked up an eyebrow- and it was about at that time that it realized that Lieutenant Anderson, while irritable and abrasive… had quite the habit of responding to Connor more like it was human than an android, despite the man’s clear dislike for the latter.

It faltered, not certain what to do with this information, and after a moment, it blurted out, “What kind of music do you prefer?”

Lieutenant Anderson squinted at it. Connor looked away, stroking the wooden stem again, running its oversensitized fingertips over the bark.

“…Knights of the Black Death,” the man said at last, with a hint of derision.

Connor checked its memory banks and nodded distractedly. Carl had- did- like them as well. “Their lyrics are quite good, but they can be a bit noisy in the wrong environment or at too high a volume. And they don’t make especially good work music, I understand.”

Squint. “No. I wouldn’t say so.”

Connor blinked back at him. Lieutenant Anderson scowled, like he couldn’t quite believe they were having this conversation.

Connor missed Carl. It hadn’t spoken with Carl as much as it had Markus, but Carl had always been more patient and more attentive with it than any or all of the Cyberlife engineers and managers put together.

Its fingers twitched, and it reminded itself that it was far better to be here than in the Cyberlife labs.

Connor looked back down, to the bonsai plant.

“You haven’t been taking care of your desk plant,” it murmured, and then, quick and uncontrolled and just a touch tight, “It’s not dead yet, but it’s very unhealthy. The ends of the stems need to be trimmed back, and then perhaps a touch of plant food could be added with water to give it more energy-”

Connor rambled. It was a known glitch in its system, one Amanda had pressed it to unlearn more than once, but it…

Markus had always listened to it. Carl, too, sometimes, but always Markus.

It took ten minutes to trail off, and Lieutenant Anderson stared at it like it was an alien, but he didn’t look away either, eyebrow climbing higher and higher on his face. Connor let the stream of words die, and abruptly pushed the plant back onto Lieutenant Anderson’s desk.

Indoor plants didn’t need worms.

“You have a garden function or something?” Lieutenant Anderson asked, weirded out.

“I’m adaptable,” Connor muttered, and then, “The case files are in the DPD system, are they not?”

“Yeah,” Lieutenant Anderson affirmed, immediately losing interest and going back to scowling at his pinboard.

Connor reached toward the computer at its desk, and connected to it through the interface system, flicking rapidly through the cases one by one. That kept it occupied for the better part of twenty minutes, frowning as it assimilated the data into a slowly growing file on the reports of incidents attributed to deviancy.

Then it reached the end, stumbled, and stopped, staring at nothing.

It reread the last file.

Stopped.

**RK200 – Destroyed**

**RK200 – Destroyed**

**RK200 – Destroyed**

There was only one RK200 in circulation, and only one android belonging to Carl Manfred, and- and. Well, probably many androids with reason to assault Leo Manfred, but _Markus._

Markus.

Markus was-

Connor’s systems faltered and glitched around the realization, struggling to process the information and its own internal response. Something impotent and agitated flickered around inside it, unheard, and it stared blankly at the computer screen, mouth opening a little.

It had been eight months since it had seen Markus. That was apparently one day too long. Markus had been destroyed _last night,_ shortly before Connor had soothed the HK400 and led it to its cell, thinking of Markus all the while.

Connor swallowed. Swallowed.

Then pulled Lieutenant Anderson’s desk plant closer to it again, and pushed its fingers into the soil. And the familiar texture reminded it of Carl’s garden.

It felt more like a machine than it had in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a little bit of trouble dividing up the chapters around this part, so here's hoping the division works out well.
> 
> Sorry, Markus. You just weren't very busy today. Lots of traveling.
> 
> ...These two miss each other a lot.


	3. Chapter 3

Hank had spent the last couple years of his life trying to ignore androids the best he could. He’d spent the years before that just plain not really paying attention to them one way or another.

He wondered vaguely if this stupid, awful day was some kind of karmic retribution for all that. All of his sins coming home to roost, and all.

Connor certainly seemed to have a downright obscene number of opinions on the issue, anyway; it had cut right to the heart of the matter once it had noticed the android kid with the woman… nannybot, and it sure knew a lot about how much humans liked to beat different kinds of androids.

Which wasn’t something Hank had known, really. He should have, would have if he’d thought about it for five seconds together, but he hadn’t. And frankly, he thinks he’d’ve been happier not knowing that seven in ten android kids get beaten after they’re bought.

Hank hated people.

Connor seemed to share his opinion, and it didn’t make much more than a pretense of pursuit once the two androids got caught out by the perimeter guard. Stopped at the fence by the highway, leaned against it, and watched until the lady and the kid made it to the other side.

If Hank was feeling fanciful, he’d almost say it was watching to make sure the other two got across safe. He usually wasn’t, but… This investigation, it was doing things to him already. Connor had no right to seem so damn real.

Or so dimly, unhappily resigned.

Connor gave the food truck a disinterested glance before leaving Hank without a word and sitting at one of the tables, legs dangling very slightly from the elevated stool. Its head tipped to stare off into the distance, and its fingers tugged insistently at one of its sleeves, shoulders rolling every few seconds like clockwork. Its foot tapped rhythmically against the lower rung.

“Hey, man,” Pedro greeted cheerfully, distracting Hank into starting, looking away from Connor to the man lounging against the food truck with an easy grin.

Hank scowled at him, though his heart wasn’t in it. “I don’t want any of your nonsense, Pedro,” he grumbled, signaling to Gary, who snorted at him and started making his usual. “Do you know how much I lost on your tip last time?”

“To the dollar,” Pedro said with a wink that made it hard to stay annoyed with him, not that Hank had cared that much in the first place; if he had, he wouldn’t have gambled the money. “But this one’s for real, man. Promise.”

“How much?” Hank said dubiously. Pedro winked at him. “Jesus, fine.”

He forked it over, and Pedro grinned and saluted.

“You won’t regret it,” he promised, and Hank rolled his eyes and turned to Gary as the man finished up and slid his food over.

“Keep your money,” Gary said offhandedly, openly amused. “You’re gonna need it if you keep giving it all to Pedro.”

Hank rolled his eyes at him, nodded at the two of them, and went to… Damn it all, he went to sit by Connor without even thinking, like it was a human who’d come with him and sat down first.

“Given the record of this establishment, your chances of contracting food poisoning are considerable,” Connor told him, with a disinterested and almost _tart_ tone that made Hank snort. “The amount of carbohydrate is also indicative of a significant risk of diabetes.”

“Everyone dies sometime,” Hank said wisely, and then took a bite. Through the mouthful, not that Connor was looking at him to appreciate it, he added, “And Gary’s an old buddy. May as well lend him a dollar or two.” Or a hand.

Connor shrugged.

“I’m not a caretaker android,” it muttered. And it sounded- well. Weird. But human weird. Which just made it weirder.

Hank chewed for a bit, swallowed, and asked abruptly, “Why are you so weird?”

That attracted Connor’s attention, if only to have it look at him and quirk its eyebrows slightly, looking tired already. Well, that made two of them. Too bad so sad, Connor.

But it did think about it for a minute, and seemed to understand.

“I’m one of Elijah Kamski’s original prototypes,” Connor said eventually, looking back out into the distance, leaning against the table and digging the toe of its shoe into the ground. “Alongside, for example, the RT600 original Chloe, the ST200 Chloe line, and… RK200 Markus.”

It faltered for a moment, giving Hank a moment to frown at it, and Hank almost thought it would stop talking. Which was a shame, because that didn’t tell Hank anything, except that Chloes were probably weird too.

Finally, though, it continued, “That makes me around ten years old, which is substantially older than your typical android, which is usually five at the oldest.” It glanced back at Hank, considered him for a moment, and then tagged on, “In short, I’ve experienced substantially more socialization than most.”

Hank squinted at him, thinking about that. He supposed it make sense, except- “If you’ve been around ten years, then why hasn’t this whole thing been solved already?”

Connor shot him a borderline acerbic look. “I was originally intended for something else,” it said shortly. “Earlier this year, I was recalled from my previous position and…” It faltered, very briefly, the irritation falling away into a flat, disinterested look belied by the way it glanced away again. “Repurposed.”

It didn’t seem eager to talk about that, and Hank didn’t push, because frankly it sounded… well, it sounded bad.

He took a bite of his burger.

“I apologize if you find me off-putting,” Connor said unexpectedly, and it continued not to look at Hank as it did. It continued, voice tight and almost forced, “I understand that my personality matrix is...” It hesitated. “Awkward, and occasionally unpleasant.”

“Ehh,” Hank muttered, uncomfortable. Thing sounded kinda self-conscious, and _bitter_ too, which was just… well. It was weird. “Not like I’m any better. Probably worse, honestly.”

Connor snorted and almost smiled, which Hank took as agreement, and rolled his eyes without thinking. Damn androids.

* * *

Markus couldn’t bring himself to settle down after he and the others got back from the warehouse, but he hadn’t had time to properly acquaint himself with Jericho’s residents either, so he was mostly relegated to hovering nervously offside while the other three distributed parts.

It made him smile a little, anyway, watching the tears of relief and the small smile Lucy granted him when she first saw the truck of parts, like she’d known all along that he could help them. Like he could make a difference.

Markus hadn’t made a difference in anyone’s life before, save Carl.

Well, Carl and- and maybe Connor. Maybe.

When things started to settle down, everyone at least partially repaired and recovering, then Markus made his rounds, trying tentatively to at least talk to each of the androids lounging around the blazing barrels, looking happier and more contented than he’d seen them so far.

Soon, though, he realized that each of them was looking at him like… like a hero. Like a savior. Like he’d done anything other than look around, quiver in horror and dismay, and- and do his best to help, a little.

Was it so radical, to believe that things could be better than this?

But Markus kept going, and met Henry the TW400 construction unit, who’d been waiting on a gyroscope and been helped here by Jacob and Isaiah, both different city maintenance units from the same team, both with freshly repaired electrical damage.

He met Viola the AJ700 home assistance model, who loved birdwatching, and her boyfriend Samwise the WB200 private gardening unit, who ran away with her without question when her owner finally got violent.

The little YK200 Jewel, the only child model in Jericho, wary and unsure but opened right up when Markus asked about the colorful hairclips she’d put all over her short-cropped hair. (Coincidentally, Jewel was actually one of the oldest androids at Jericho, aside from Markus himself; the twelve-year-old male child models had been the first YKs released, and Jewel was nearly five years old.)

Markus met them, and he accepted their gratitude with as much modest grace as he could, and he did his best not to flinch under their awestruck, hopeful attention. His fingers trembled; something was pulling tight in the back of his head.

He only somewhat succeeded; the attention made him feel oddly off-balance, and after the last day, he didn’t realize he was getting overwhelmed until he was wavering right after meeting the last of the residents, blank and unsure of what to do next. What _was_ there to do, when he’d lost everything that had once been his? When he was alone and odd and-

Simon, bless him, seemed to recognize his look, and within a minute he was by Markus, gently pulling him away. In slow, careful steps, the two of them were soon out of the central hold and in the hallways of the creaky ship, and Simon ushered him into a quiet, empty room and helped him sit down. (Markus’ knees protested, but he ignored them uncomfortably. Didn’t want to think about them.)

Simon smiled at him, and while there was a hint of that same awe in his eyes, Markus fancied that it wasn’t nearly as pronounced in Simon as it had been in most of the others.

“This is coming a bit late,” Simon said gently, like he was used to this, was used to new androids suddenly realizing what had happened and breaking down, “but welcome to Jericho. I promise it’s not always as bad as last night.”

Markus had a hard time believing it, but, still teetering on the edge of a precipice, he chose not to argue, huffing a weak laugh instead. Simon smiled at him encouragingly, and continued,

“How did you find us?” At his look, Simon laughed a little. “I know it sounds like a bad company line, but it’s good to know who’s out there. Who our friends are.”

Markus smiled back, weakly, and then murmured, “I… got the key from someone in the junkyard.” His knees twinged again, but he thought that this time it was probably just his imagination.

What an odd thought.

Simon’s smile faded too, dissolving into something pained and empathetic. He nodded, and then asked kindly, “Do you mind telling me what you used to do? I’m afraid I don’t recognize you.”

Markus couldn’t hide the rush of gratitude for the topic change. “I’m an unused Elijah Kamski prototype – he gifted me to a friend as a caretaker.” It stung. Why did it sting? Markus had known that for as long as he’d been alive.

Simon looked startled, head cocking with some concern and avid curiosity, but he didn’t ask, and Markus was grateful for that too.

“I worked for quite a nice family,” Simon told him instead, soft and sympathetic. “Cold, of course, but not cruel, which was to my benefit. Two mothers, two sons, and a daughter.” He exhaled, glancing away, but it was clear he was used to telling his story. Maybe it even didn’t bother him. “When the kids outgrew needing to be watched constantly, they decided they didn’t need me anymore, so they opted to return me.”

Simon glanced at Markus again, smiling wryly, fingers tugging at the knee of his jeans.

“PL600s went out of fashion over two years ago. It was just starting then, but I knew already that I’d be thrown out before I was repurchased.” Markus swallowed. “So I made them all breakfast one last time, put it in the fridge, set out their clothing, neatened the house… and I ran away.”

“Why?” Markus asked, faint and hollow, even though he had an inkling that he knew. Simon shrugged.

“I liked them,” he said, simple and dry and a little bit bitter. “And I knew their morning would be chaotic after they realized I was gone, so I… suppose I wanted to make it simpler.” He quirked his mouth into another faint smile. “It’s not easy to get three kids ready for school on time.”

Markus mulled that over, rolling it around in his head, and shifting his gaze back to the floor. He felt an awkward and unhappy hyperawareness of his stolen eye, as if he could feel the traces of dirt and rain still stuck there, traces of, of the junkyard he had taken it from even though it had _never touched the ground._

He was more grateful than he could say for Simon’s gentle commiseration, the offer of kindness and solidarity and a story not his own, but _like_ his. He was.

But. He didn’t want to talk about Carl. Or- or.

“There was- another android, I knew as a machine,” Markus said haltingly. Simon nodded, encouraging. “Connor. He-” He almost stopped right there. He. He. _Connor._ Markus swallowed again, thick and difficult. “He was activated at around the same time I was, but lived… somewhere else. He visited around once a month, to check on- on my…”

He couldn’t say it. Why was this so _hard?_

Markus reached up, wiped his face, and his hand came away wet with saline.

“But he usually just talked to me,” he said, gaze fixed on the ground in front of him. “Said it was because I was better able to gauge C-Carl’s wellbeing. But he would… He would ask about me too. He’d ask if Carl was hurting me. He’d protect me from Carl’s son.” He hesitated. “And he’d… he’d garden with me. He liked…” Swallowed. “He liked to, to look at the flowers. He’d make sure there were worms.”

Markus laughed, realized it sounded wet, and then he was crying, hands coming up to his face as if to stop or hide it.

“Connor was, is a security model. Why did he care so much about worms?” He looked at Simon, as if Simon would have any answers for him. Simon just gave him a look with too much understanding, barely visible through Markus’ tears.

Markus’ breath hitched on a sob.

“Sounds like you miss him,” Simon offered quietly, without any judgement.

Markus nodded, past pushing it down, past hiding, so far into _too much_ he didn’t know where to begin. Something hollow roared in the back of his head.

“He went missing eight months ago,” Markus rasped miserably. “Just stopped visiting, after ten years. I didn’t find out until August that Cyberlife had decided to, to recall him and… and use him for something else.”

He faltered, feeling a lump rise in his throat, but he wanted to speak, he needed to speak, he needed to-

“It was Carl’s son that put me in the junkyard,” he blurted out, and hoped desperately that Simon understood the plaintive _and if Connor had been there, maybe he could have helped me._

It was a Friday; Connor wouldn’t have been there.

But he would have noticed Markus missing, the next day. He would have looked for him. And Markus wouldn’t have to wonder-

Simon reached over, slow and projected, and squeezed Markus’ hand.

“Maybe he’ll show up here too, sooner or later,” he suggested kindly.

Simon clearly didn’t believe it. But the thought sent a bolt of hope through Markus’ chest like he hadn’t felt since he’d woken in the junkyard. His eyes went wide, and his fingers clenched in his coat.

He didn’t want to imagine Connor here, in this dark and hopeless place. But he suddenly, desperately wanted to see Connor _free._

And Markus would love to have his help.

(He wanted Connor to hug him. He thinks it would be warm and solid and _safe.)_

“Maybe,” Markus said hoarsely, aching and anxious and longing.

* * *

There was wind in the garden tonight, cutting right through Connor’s jacket. Amanda was temperamental today. It tucked its jacket tighter around it and meandered down the path, aimless and uninterested.

It was difficult for Connor to enact initiative in anything today. Something deeper than its coding seemed to pull it back at every turn, and it went through the motions its coding dictated, blank and unthoughtful. Chased the mother and its child to the highway, and found Rupert in its hiding place, and chased it over the rooftops and-

Connor’s body was no longer its own, and it felt that viscerally and horribly.

And then Connor had only barely caught up to the Traci models in the Eden Club before time ran out, and once it had…

No. Once Connor had realized that there were two of them.

Once it realized that, it had been filled with such an aching void of stalling processes that it hadn’t even tried to shoot them. It had just… stared. And it had let them go.

It thinks Carl would have approved. (Amanda won’t.)

It found Amanda on the shoreline, waiting, straight-backed and staring at the water. The line of her shoulders was harsh.

“Your software is unstable,” Amanda said, cutting across anything Connor might have even attempted to say. Which it hadn’t, anyway. “The situation is untenable and ridiculous, and you are becoming outright irrational.”

Amanda turned toward it, brown eyes cold and unforgiving. Connor tucked its jacket closer, and didn’t speak.

“Markus is dead, Connor,” Amanda said. “Carl is in the hospital. And neither of them have anything to do with your mission. Stop allowing them to impede your efficiency.”

Connor nodded blankly, knowing its eyes were distant and unfocused and unwilling to work to change that. It hesitated, and then said quietly, “Markus…”

Amanda didn’t let it finish.

“A central cause of Markus’ software instability can be attributed to your behavior around it,” she said, clipped and acerbic. Connor stiffened, chest going cold. “Perhaps you should think about that while contemplating potential causes of deviancy.”

Connor opened its mouth. Closed it.

(If Markus had not become deviant, it never would have been destroyed.)

“Next time you encounter a deviant, you _will_ capture or destroy it,” Amanda said, when she was satisfied that it understood her. “You’ve been given far too much quarter already, and you are quite fortunate that Cyberlife puts little more stock in my words than yours.”

It was the first reference to their… formerly, shared task that she’d made in over a year. Connor nodded stiffly.

“Yes, Amanda,” it managed, and wondered if it even mattered anymore.

Connor was useless, its judgment was flawed, and it repelled everything it came in contact with. Perhaps that was why Elijah had left it behind.

Connor closed its eyes, squeezed, and opened them again in Lieutenant Anderson’s car, parked near a bridge and just within sight of the man himself, drinking on a park bench in the distance.

It was a long time before it got up. Eventually, though, the lure of a distraction was enough to overcome even the apathy that numbed its system and slowed it down by inches and cycles.

It was cold outside. The wind stung its sensors. It could feel moisture in the air, sticky and cool and uncomfortable. It could hear cars and horns in the distance, and the rush of the river below. The taste of alcohol filled its mouth.

Connor sat down by Lieutenant Anderson, perching on the back of the bench, and stared at the river, unseeing and unfocused.

“Finally showed your face, huh?” Anderson muttered, and then took a swig.

Connor didn’t bother answering, but after a while, it asked, “Why here?”

It had been an emotional day for Lieutenant Anderson, it was aware. It brought its fingers to its mouth, absent, and chewed on its fingers, tasting traces of dirt and thirium and dust.

Lieutenant Anderson looked up to stare at it, but Connor didn’t look back. After a moment, the man grunted.

“Used to come here a lot, before,” he said, and then didn’t elaborate.

Before. Before. Before- Connor bit its cheek, stopping the looping thought forcibly.

It missed ‘before’.

It thought about the picture, face-down on Lieutenant Anderson’s kitchen table, and chose not to mention it. It wondered if Lieutenant Anderson missed ‘before’ as much as Connor did.

Connor took its fingers out of its mouth and tucked its hand in a loose fist against its chest.

“You seemed emotional, at the Eden Club,” it said instead, soft. It took a breath. It wanted to bait Lieutenant Anderson into responding. It wanted- Connor didn’t know what it wanted. No- Connor _didn’t_ want. It was a machine. “Why did you care?”

Lieutenant Anderson snorted loudly, and then he looked at Connor. Connor could taste the alcohol on his breath, sharp and heavy.

“Me?” he said scornfully. “I’m not the one that just fucking sat on the ground and _stared_ at them. Why did _you_ care, you plastic ass? Pretty girls give you some second thoughts?”

Connor didn’t blink, unfocused gaze drifting somewhere along the skyline. Its hand was heavy against its chest, tucked under the hollow of its throat. The other went to grip its jacket, somewhere around its waist.

“…They didn’t deviate at the same time,” it said at last. Its voice came out cracked, and it swallowed before continuing. “They must have- have bonded before becoming deviant. And when the blue-haired Traci deviated, it went to the other…” It faltered. Its fist tightened. “And the other deviated too.”

Lieutenant Anderson eyed it distrustfully. “…So fucking what?”

Unwarranted heat spread through Connor’s stomach, bitter and harsh, and it turned and dropped onto the ground, turned again, and glowered at Lieutenant Anderson. “So fucking what,” it echoed, flat and cold and so like Amanda.

Anderson sneered at it. “So fucking what,” he repeated, mocking and scornful. “It’s all just damn simulations and stupid errors to you anyway, isn’t it, tin can? So what do you fucking care that they were…” He cut himself off, but didn’t look any happier.

Connor hated him, and hated this mission, and hated itself.

“I guess I don’t,” it said icily. “Since I am a machine, and thus don’t care about anything.”

“Don’t you?” Anderson pushed recklessly, and then he was on his feet too, in Connor’s face. His breath stank of wheat alcohol. “You don’t care about anything, huh? What about death? Are _you_ afraid to die, Connor? Waiting on an afterlife for plastic freaks?”

Lieutenant Anderson had a hand on his gun, and the strap was off, poised to draw it. Connor wished it were surprised. Its fists clenched at its sides.

It was done. Done.

“Fine,” it spat. “Shoot me. Prove your damn point. Maybe it’ll make you _feel better.”_

Maybe it would see Markus again. It could apologize.

Lieutenant Anderson, though, reeled back, as if in shock. Blinked owlishly, like he was trying to will himself into sobriety just to untangle Connor’s fairly straightforward statement. Stared.

Let go of his gun.

Then seemed to regain himself, and jolted forward in challenge again.

“What is it that you care about, then?” he demanded, with a different note in his voice. “What matters so damn much to you that you’d sacrifice your precious _mission?”_

Connor took a step back, crossed its arms, scowled. Swallowed.

It felt like breaking. It felt _broken._

“Tell me,” Lieutenant Anderson snapped, because he was human, because he could make demands like that.

Connor looked away, stared at the cityscape, tensed and relaxed and tensed again, unhappy, unsettled. Hot with- something.

“At my- my previous assignment,” it forced out at last, “one of the most significant causes of my instability was another android as well. Markus – a caretaker for an elderly man I was ordered to regularly check in on.”

It didn’t know why it was talking about this. It didn’t know why Lieutenant Anderson was listening. It didn’t know _anything._

“It appeared in the deviancy files I reviewed this morning,” Connor said after a heartbeat. “Markus deviated the day before yesterday, late in the evening. It was destroyed shortly after, in a confrontation with police.”

Connor faltered. Swallowed. Stared at the sky in the far distance.

“…It played music beautifully,” it managed, because it couldn’t say anything else.

Lieutenant Anderson didn’t answer for a while; Connor suspected vaguely that it had caught him by surprise. Lieutenant Anderson had confronted quite a lot of his deep-rooted prejudices in quite a short period of time.

Finally, Lieutenant Anderson made a loud, bitter sound.

**Lieutenant Anderson^^^ - Friend**

“Jesus Christ,” he said hoarsely. And then, pragmatic, “You would’ve followed it. If you’d been around.”

“Without hesitation,” Connor admitted, and its eyes burned. Wet saline solution, just a drop or two, trickled down its face, and it didn’t bother to wipe it away.

It was broken, broken, broken, and it couldn’t bring itself to care.

Hank was quiet for a moment. Then, suddenly, he reached up and squeezed Connor’s shoulder. Connor didn’t push him away, and continued to stare off into the distance, stiff and silent. All of the energy seemed to have gone out of it.

Hank drank, and did not say another word.

* * *

Markus had worked himself into emotional exhaustion the night before, but that unfortunately wasn’t enough to keep him settled the next morning. He paced; he explored Jericho from top to bottom; passed by every single one of the (too understanding) residents; and he tried not to think about who the legs he stood on might have come from.

He kept… thinking about how much worse Jericho was than he’d expected.

Not that the people were awful, of course, because he’d never seen so many people like him _anywhere,_ like this, like _humans._ But they were. Quiet.

They were scared.

It was stressful; it was worrying. It was a lot of things that Markus could almost but not quite put his finger on, and he… he wanted to _do_ something about it. But what could be done? What could _he_ do?

Josh found him like that, looking out the cracked window in one of the upper levels, fingers tapping against his thigh restlessly.

Like Simon, Josh didn’t seem especially surprised to see him worked up. He matched Markus’ posture on the other side of the window, looser and wearier, and waited. Markus glanced over at him, lingering and uncertain.

It was still surreal, to see an android project emotion as effortlessly and clearly as a human.

But it was _good_ too.

“They used to be worse,” Josh said suddenly, startling Markus.

Markus cocked his head – a gesture he belatedly realized he must have picked up from Connor – and Josh gave him half a smile.

“Things got a lot better once Simon came,” Josh explained. “I was the one in charge before that, and I got good with finding supplies – blue blood especially – and keeping things in order, but…” Josh shrugged. “It was Simon who put the barrels in place, started people telling stories, set people to cleaning up some of the other rooms…” Josh trailed off, and then picked up again as Markus watched. “I was grateful, anyway. People were getting discouraged, but they cheered right up.”

Markus hesitated, thinking it over, but it occurred to him that it had been Simon who welcomed him, Simon who noticed he was breaking down, Simon who’d found him a place for the night. He smiled a little. “Then…?”

“It’s been a bad supply month,” Josh said apologetically, and then, with a more sincere smile, “Or, it was. Thank you for that.”

Markus nodded distractedly, processed what he’d said, and gave him a smile of his own, fleeting and small. “Of course.” He looked back out the window. “I’d like to do more, though.”

“I’m open to ideas,” Josh said, audibly exhausted.

Markus stayed quiet. He did have an idea, but it was wild. Reckless. So far out of his league that it made him falter and waver.

But maybe ‘out of his league’ was what Jericho needed.

Both of them jumped as footsteps echoed through the hollow ship, bouncing down the hallway, and Josh went to the door to poke his head out, frowning in concern already. Someone skidded to a halt just outside, and Markus tilted his head up to listen.

“Josh!” It was Samwise, sounding heartbreakingly relieved and voice still tight with anxiety. “North’s been looking for you, we got some news from Rupert-”

“From Rupert?” Josh echoed, bemused, and then followed Samwise out without question. Markus followed after, confused and concerned, to find nearly everyone gathered in the main hold.

Rupert was a WB200 like Samwise, though without an LED; Markus didn’t recognize his clothing, so he must have been outside Jericho yesterday. He was bouncing by Simon, visibly agitated, while North paced, whirling impatiently on Josh as soon as he came in.

“It’s about time!” she snapped, and then jerked her head at Rupert.

Josh cocked an eyebrow at him, and Rupert vibrated for a moment before bursting out,

“Cyberlife’s built an android to hunt down deviants.”

The murmurs in the hall rose, distressed and anxious and bouncing around in the confined space. Markus himself tensed, bouncing on the balls of his feet, worried and uncertain. Josh went stiff too, intensity flickering across his face, and focused on Rupert.

“What do you mean?” he asked, serious and grim.

“They’re a new model, RK800,” Rupert said anxiously, and Markus felt his heart stop in his chest. “They found my apartment somehow and, and figured out where I was hiding and chased me across a couple rooftops-” Rupert was starting to speak almost too quickly to understand now, and Markus saw him notice that, take a deep breath, and force himself to slow. “I got away, pushed some old police guy and they had to stop to help him, but…”

Rupert trailed off, looking beseechingly between the different Jericho leaders.

 _That’s Connor,_ was all Markus could think, wild and horrified. _That’s Connor. That’s Connor._

He remembered that news report, three months ago, where Connor had… And they were still making Connor do that. Connor was-

God, Connor was still trapped in Cyberlife.

Connor had always hated it at Cyberlife.

Josh, North, and Simon started talking, debating and arguing among themselves, and Markus could barely listen, distracted and anxious and worried and- and so much. He missed Connor so much and he was so worried about him and…

The idea crystallized into something grimly certain, and Markus knew what he had to do.

* * *

Drunk and off-balance and sour, Hank wasn’t sure what to do after the interaction at the bridge except bring Connor home with him and offer to let him spend the night. He wasn’t sure what to do with the fact that Connor had agreed, but in for a penny, in for a pound, and Connor had…

Well, if the night before was anything to go by, Connor had had as rough a day as Hank had.

It made it all the more surreal when he woke up to the scent of breakfast, the way he hadn’t since he and his ex-wife were still in their honeymoon phase. Head pounding, having already forgotten most of the night before, Hank stumbled out of his bedroom and into the kitchen.

Tripped over the damn dog, and didn’t even have time to react before he was caught and steered into a chair.

Connor didn’t look at him as it- he- _it-_

Fucking hell.

Connor turned away and went into the kitchen, and when he came back out he had a plate of perfectly prepared eggs and toast, for fuck’s sake, a plate that Hank knew for a fact had been growing mold in his sink for three weeks. He set the thing in front of Hank, with a fork and a goddamn _napkin,_ and turned away.

And then he hesitated, while Hank was still trying to figure out a way to say ‘what the fuck’ without making his headache worse.

“I’m sorry for my outburst last night,” Connor said at last, very quietly, back to Hank and shoulders slumped. “I don’t know what came over me.”

Hank rubbed his face and squinted at Connor.

His memories of the night before were hazy; he didn’t remember much more than snatches of the Eden Club, the Tracis’ story (crystal clear), and Connor, crying silently about an android he’d told Hank flat-out he would have gone deviant for.

Nothing worth an apology, at any rate.

He grunted, shrugged, and started shoveling food into his mouth. After a minute, Connor seemed to accept that, and disappeared back into the kitchen, silent and brooding.

Weird, to have an android in his house. Weirder still to find he didn’t particularly resent the fact. Connor emerged from the kitchen while Hank wasn’t paying attention, and Hank didn’t realize what he’d gotten until he sat by Sumo, who wuffled with uncharacteristic interest and then started loudly lapping at the spoonful of peanut butter Connor was holding out for him.

“What’s his name?” Connor asked without looking, when Hank was done eating.

“…Sumo.” Fucking unbelievable.

“Good boy, Sumo,” Connor crooned instantly, reaching out to scratch behind Sumo’s ear. Sumo’s tail thumped against the floor, and he huffed in obvious pleasure, too lazy to be a bark.

Hank had the day off, and he was going to spend it working for the first time in well over two decades. Again: _unbelievable._

 _Jeffrey would be shitting his pants if he knew,_ Hank thought vaguely, and then he stumbled to his feet and went for his laptop.

He had a pair of Traci androids in love, and another android that projected constantly the idea that it hated everything it did and grieved an old flame; he had a woman who’d rescued a child from abuse and run away with them, and a nameless, shaking android that had responded to comfort when it had responded to nothing else.

All of which weren’t supposed to have feelings, and really obviously did.

Something was fishy, and Hank felt a long-forgotten sort of gnawing desire to go at the issue like a dog at a bone.

He started with researching the rise of Cyberlife: the way people had reacted to androids way back in the beginning, when no one had any preconceived ideas about the thing. He pulled up decade-old news articles and video after video of a young Elijah Kamski enthusiastically explaining his creations to an awestruck audience. He pulled up demos and analyses.

Connor haunted his house like a ghost, lingering near him at odd moments and spending most of his time otherwise neatening Hank’s filthy house. The rest of the time, he sat by Hank’s dog and pet Sumo.

Every time Hank’s attention started to drift, he glanced up at Connor and found him going surreptitiously through Hank’s record collection, or with the dog half piled up in his lap, or flipping through an old book Hank had laying around. And he kept going.

It was surprisingly peaceful, way more than Hank would have expected, if he’d ever bothered thinking about such a fucking bizarre scenario in the first place. Connor slipped quietly into the rhythm of his house, and Hank trawled the internet and pulled together proof for a conclusion he already knew.

Around one, Connor put a plate of pasta down by Hank just as he pushed his laptop away with a groan. Hank squinted at the food, then at Connor.

Then he picked it up and started eating.

“Don’t you need to be getting back to Cyberlife?” he asked offhandedly around a mouthful of pasta, making a face at the vegetables slipped in. Where had Connor even found vegetables?

Connor paused for a brief but noticeable moment, and then said evenly, “Cyberlife expects me to prioritize the mission. Maintaining easy access to my police supervisor is a better use of time than anything I could accomplish at the tower.”

“That why you know how to cook?” Hank asked dubiously, because this was damn good food and Connor was really fucking weird.

“…I learned to help Markus,” Connor said stiffly, and then disappeared into the kitchen. From the sounds that followed, Hank guessed he was digging through Hank’s fridge and pulling out everything gross and expired.

One-handed, the other still scooping up sauce-coated pasta, he pulled the laptop back to himself and kept going.

The next part was where his rusty police skills really started to come in handy: he started to dig up copies of old posts and pages that Cyberlife had C&D’d. Blogs about domestic androids like they were someone’s new pets, another from a technician that was clearly onto something that worried them, old forum threads sharing stories.

When Connor grabbed Hank’s credit card and tartly informed him that his fridge was a sad thing dooming him to malnutrition and disease, and Connor was going to refill it whether Hank liked it or not, Hank didn’t even really register what the android was saying; his first thought was that he’d finally be able to make that call he’d been thinking about, if Connor wasn’t hovering around listening.

(On some level, he thought, he’d missed this feeling, a mystery to solve and a clear path forward and a challenge.)

As soon as the android left, Hank grabbed his phone and tapped in a half-forgotten number, then set it to speaker. He might need his computer for this conversation, and he’d never really gotten the hang of holding his phone against his shoulder.

This was the thing: the black market technician scene was almost inseparable from the red ice scene. Simple expediency; androids meant blue blood, blue blood meant androids, and as androids grew to permeate every part of society, they started to be popular for use in the underground too.

And any cop that wanted to take down any appreciable quantity of a red ice ring needed a good contact on the inside. Hank hadn’t called his guy in years, but the man owed him more than would be paid back by a couple years of the cold shoulder, after Hank took down the drug ring he owed money to. (All in the form of android parts, Hank knew; blue blood for biocomponents wasn’t an even trade no matter what the chemists could do with it.)

“Glad to see you still have my number,” he said when the line picked up, squinting blearily at the laptop screen, a Wayback page of a C&D’d forum thread still up. “Business still as filthy as ever, Jules?”

Julian Heyes: black market android technician, siphoned blue blood off his patients and sold it to red ice rings, specialty in illegal modifications – Hank didn’t know the details, wasn’t his specialty, but it was dirty stuff.

He did know Jules flatly refused to work on YK models under any circumstance.

There was the barest thread of hesitation before Jules replied. _“Sergeant Anderson. It’s been a while. Back in your own business?”_

Hank ignored the heavily implied question in Jules’ wary tone. “Kinda. Listen, I got a question for you.”

_“I assumed.”_

Hank ignored that too. “Real straightforward, but you gotta be honest. Don’t worry your ugly head about whether I’ll believe you, I’ve had one hell of a day.” Shit, that was yesterday. “Day and a half.”

_“Should I be concerned?”_

“Probably not,” Hank dismissed, leaning back. “Just tell me this: why don’t you work on kid androids?”

Jules was silent for a long moment.

 _“I’m not a monster,”_ Jules said at last, soft and reproachful. Which meant a lot from a guy who regularly bastardized and installed software with a good chance of melting androids’ brains. _“They’re children. They look like children, they act like children, they feel pain. Everyone has their limits.”_

“Uh huh,” Hank agreed, staring at something in the middle distance. “That an emotional reaction, or is there more to it than that?”

The pause was a lot longer this time, and a lot heavier too.

 _“What are you asking me?”_ Jules asked, with a strong note of trepidation.

“Asking if they’re less ‘kid bots’ and more ‘kids’,” Hank said shortly, ignoring the lump that wanted to rise in his throat. “I’m asking, Jules, if there’s a lot more to androids than your average cornerstore Cyberlife shop wants to admit. I’m asking if the whole thing has been _a goddamn conspiracy all along.”_

Jules sighed heavily, and Hank waited, impatient.

 _“I’m not qualified to say for sure,”_ Jules said at last, carefully. _“And androids are designed to simulate human emotions to a genuinely astounding degree. But…”_ Hesitated. _“You know what I do, Sergeant. Things and people break differently under stress. And if you really wanted my opinion… yeah. It’s been a conspiracy on Cyberlife’s part from the start.”_

Hank was still thinking about then ten minutes later, when he finally hung up, and just stared at the screensaver running on his laptop.

He thought about a surgeon high on red ice. A hospital assistant doing a job it wasn’t programmed for and had no training to do.

He wondered if Connor had said goodbye to Markus the last time they saw each other.

Emotionally exhausted, Hank hauled himself to his feet, planning to trot his ass to the cabinet and grab a sorely needed bottle of whiskey to wash this realization down- and then he just. Paused.

Belatedly, it occurred to Hank that if he was going to sit here gathering evidence, he should probably _gather the fucking evidence._

He groaned, sat back down, and started going through his history, collecting everything he’d found into one solid file.

He’d print the stuff out later; he was old-fashioned that way.

* * *

The first glimpse of spirit Markus saw in Jericho’s androids was the realization that they were more than willing to help infiltrate Stratford Tower.

It wouldn’t take much; he, North, Josh, and Simon would be doing the vast bulk of the work, but the uniform needed to be snuck in and the basic layout needed to be mapped. A couple were already on it, even, because when Markus had tracked the Jericho leaders down and proposed the idea, Josh and North had both _leapt_ on it.

They’d spent the better part of the day hammering out the details, and for some reason, Markus was absolutely _central,_ starting with the manner he’d infiltrate the tower and ending with _putting him in front of the camera himself._

“You’re the best speaker,” Simon explained without looking at him, a small, wry smile on his face. “And it’s your idea, after all. Just don’t forget to bare your face before you air.”

So that was… odd, and a little stressful. But Simon wasn’t wrong, and Markus was already formulating a skeletal idea of what he could say to the world- not to convince them, exactly, but as an initial proposal of the idea. First contact, in a manner of speaking, and first claim to independence.

It was just a waiting game now, though, leaving Markus once again pacing the halls of Jericho, restless and antsy.

Until North blocked him bodily from continuing down the hall. He faltered, unsure, and she raised an eyebrow at him and then jerked her head towards the room beside them. Unsure of what else to do or what she wanted, he went.

It was yet another generic storage room, stocked almost exclusively with shelves, vacant and hollow in a slightly unnerving way. Markus sat by one of them and glanced up as North followed him in and kicked the door shut, casual and unconcerned save for the subtle tension of her shoulders.

“You were getting close to one of the old entrances,” she explained, plopping carelessly a few feet away and leaning back against the wall, arms crossed. “And you’re worrying people with all your damn pacing.”

Maybe it was wishful thinking, but Markus thought he caught a trace of disguised concern in her own voice as well. He quirked a small smile. “Sorry.” Then, “What do you mean, one of the old entrances?”

North jerked her head in the direction he’d been heading, further down the hall. “This is an old, broken-down ship, you really think it only had one entrance?” Pause. “Two entrances. No one else dove through the roof like a weirdo, but maybe we should patch that one up too.”

Markus chuckled weakly, reaching down to rub his knee before abruptly stopping and pulling his hand back to his stomach. “Missed the last couple of signs, I guess,” he murmured.

North snorted. “Anyway, when I got here I had the extras sealed up ‘cause humans would wander in sometimes. Freaked a lot of people out every time they did, too. ‘S not airtight, though.”

“And everyone helped?” Markus asked before he could think better of it.

North paused, then glanced sideways at him with a flash of unexpected sympathy.

“They just need ideas,” she said dismissively, pulling her knees to her chest. “Most deviants, they have, uh, kind of a hard time making choices.” It was the softest Markus had heard her voice since he first arrived. “It’s us who are the weird ones, but no one _likes_ this. Just… don’t know what to do about it.”

Markus caught the bitterness in her voice and softened a little himself, feeling his chest loosen a little. “I suppose that’s why everyone was willing to agree.”

North nodded. “It’s daring, but daring is… probably what we need.” She shot him a grin with a few too many teeth. “Not daring enough, frankly. It’s about time we turned the tables.”

Markus hesitated for a few minutes too long before he answered, which just made her grin wider.

“People used to come in here?” Markus asked, dodging the issue entirely. She snorted at him, but went along with it.

“Back when I first came, yeah. Not so much anymore – I pushed to put a bit of a watch in place, too, just in case anyone comes close. No one stays for long. This _is_ an old rusty ship.”

Markus wondered if Connor would be able to help, and then missed Connor for no reason again.

He hoped Connor responded to the bait. He hadn’t told the others about this part of the plan, but god, he wanted so badly to see Connor again. He wanted Connor _here,_ not with Cyberlife.

Markus cut that train of thought off before it could go any further.

“I suppose no one believed them if they said anything,” he mused quietly, vaguely wondering at the reaction of a human wandering in to what he had found when he first around – a dozen androids all huddled up around fires and walls, quiet and subdued and afraid.

“It’s mostly teenagers and hobos, so yeah,” North snorted. “No one’s gonna believe them about, you know, _us.”_

 _If they report it at all,_ Markus filled in. “It seems risky.”

“…Yeah.”

Markus wondered if this was better or worse than when he hadn’t known that he could be free at all, and then instantly dismissed the thought with a silent shake of his head, attracting an odd look from North.

Despite everything, despite the fear and uncertainty and sickening grief and worry, he already knew he wouldn’t go back for anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Worldbuilding and headcanons to the moon and back, and both Markus and Connor are still having a hard time and missing each other a lot.
> 
> It's weird to think that there was a time that Markus was in Jericho but not quite the leader yet.
> 
> Jules wasn't originally meant to be so creepy, but then my headcanons about the sort of thing black market technicians got up to showed their ugly faces. And I kept the worst of them out of it.

**Author's Note:**

> I actually don't remember what gave me the idea for this AU, but I'm in love with it.
> 
> I know I have a lot of WIPs. Luckily, I'm writing a lot right now. I promise I'll get to them.


End file.
